


"Don't Cry, Shopgirl..."

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, sher
Genre: Back in Lockdown, Cliche, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Fluffy Ending, Fluffyfest, Holy fuck did I mention the fluff, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is Perfect, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Movie Nights, POV John Watson, Popcorn, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is sneaky, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, silly boys in love, you have no idea how fluffy this is, you've got mail - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: Lockdown drives Sherlock up the wall but John has a solution. "Drama or Romance?"
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	"Don't Cry, Shopgirl..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CarmillaCarmine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/gifts).



> Thanks to a poll on my Patreon, I have a new fic out for you all! Patrons got to vote from a list of first and TWO topics tied! The first one I am sharing is the "first time holding hands"! I loved having the freedom for this and it was so fun getting to write it! I hope you all enjoy it and I hope it brings some much needed softness to your holidays! *hugs and kisses*
> 
> ALSO, special shoutout to CarmillaCarmine (the one I'm gifting this fluff-fest to!) for the suggestion for the ending! lol She always has given me the greatest ideas and always knows how to make my work everything that it possibly can be. Thanks for being my second pair of eyes on nearly everything I write and for knowing my brain better than I do! *super hugs* Merry Christmas, my dear! :3

We’re sitting on the sofa when it happens.

Two weeks into lockdown and I finally convince Sherlock to do something other than drive himself mad with crazy conspiracy theories about why the government is keeping him from his cases or why his brother can’t just wave his political magic wand and “make all of this ridiculous nonsense go away”. It was endearing at first, if I’m honest, watching him rant and rave as he flailed about on the sofa in one of his many strops, but over time I could feel my anxiety mounting. If I didn’t come up with something fast, I would have an absolute mess on my hands when Sherlock’s brain finally grew tired of waiting.

“Drama or romance?” I ask, folding my newspaper over the arm of my chair.

Sherlock’s head snaps up as his brow furrows, his lip pulling up in that confused little quirk. “What?” he retorts, his eyes darting over my features as if I’d just grown three heads.

I fix him with a steady gaze and flick my eyes to the rarely used television set across the room. “Films, Sherlock. Drama or romance? I think that’s all I’ve got in my collection at this point.”

“Drama or… Romance?”

I can feel the judgment dripping off of the words in earnest, but I ignore it. “Yes, romance, you prat. Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a bit of romance every once in a while.” My cheeks heat slightly at the admission but I shrug in hopes of brushing it off. “I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s just nice, you know? The idea of finding someone out there who actually wants you for all your flaws and misgivings and - ” I pause for a moment, realising he’s staring at me expectantly with that all too familiar smirk on his face. I’d let my more vulnerable side slip out just the tiniest bit and the overwhelming urge to throw my walls back up in defence wins out in the end. “Say, why am I telling you any of this anyway? Just... choose something before we both go insane, yeah?”

My frustrated huff is enough to end the conversation as I turn my attention to my mobile, not really looking at anything in particular. I'm just trying to busy myself in order to gather my composure for a moment before having to face him again. In hindsight, it probably doesn’t even matter in the slightest since Sherlock and his massive intellect would be able to deduce that I’m not actually doing anything on it anyway but at least it helps me feel like I’m pulling one over on him.

Either way, he concedes and slips off of the sofa to browse through what was left of my film collection. It doesn’t take him long, surprisingly, and, before I know it, he’s flicked on the television, put in a DVD, and dragged me out of my chair by the sleeve of my jumper.

“What are you doing?” I ask, feeling a bit panicky and completely unsure as to why I’m being manhandled over to the sofa when I’d been perfectly comfortable in my own chair.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, huffing softly as if I was missing something so incredibly obvious but when he speaks, there’s no venom in his tone. “We’re watching a film together,” he answers, shoving me down gently onto one end of the sofa.

“Okay, but why did you move me?” I’m usually much better at figuring out his relatively interesting reasoning behind the things that he does but this time I’m feeling a bit out of my depth.

He’s disappeared into the kitchen however, cabinets opening and closing here and there before a quiet little “ah!” filters back into the sitting room. It’s clear that he hasn’t heard me but my interest in whatever he’s up to has piqued insistently. The buttons on the microwave beep as he fiddles with it then more clattering commences. After a few moments, Sherlock finally returns with a large mixing bowl filled with popcorn in one hand and the remote control in the other.

“The most suitable snack choice for a night in watching telly,” he says, holding up the bowl in explanation. “Or so the internet says anyway.”

A confused grin crosses my features and I feel my usual fondness for him multiply. “Did you seriously just Google that?”

He frowns but plays off the accusation with yet another roll of his eyes as he sits beside me and I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. Not right now, anyway. “Nevermind… what are we watching?” I ask, stealing a piece of popcorn from the bowl as soon as his head is turned.

“Mm, something about computers I believe,” he answers, pressing play on the remote and settling in. “Emails, book shops, and I think there’s a dog. At least, there’s one on the cover.”

“Ah… You’ve Got Mail!” I chuckle, flashing a smile at him as I hold a piece of popcorn out for him to take. “Tom Hanks as Joe Fox and Meg Ryan as Kathleen Kelly. That’s a good one; one of my favorites if I’m honest.”

He stares at me hesitantly, his gaze flicking back and forth between my face and the offending bit of food in between my thumb and forefinger, ignoring my comments about the film. I can tell now that he had no intention of actually eating any of the popcorn himself and had, therefore, only made it to follow the usual social protocol in order to make me happy. “Come on… Just try it. I promise it’s good.”

Sherlock’s resolve falters for a fraction of a second so I flash him a soft, yet pouty look and, to my surprise, that seems to do the trick. He lets out an over dramatic sigh, leaning forward to pluck the piece of popcorn from between my fingers with the barest graze of his teeth and a flutter of something I haven’t felt in a very long time stirs deep in my belly. It’s raw and new and I fight the urge to chase it, wiping my fingers on my jeans as he chews silently. He seems to analyse the flavor, no doubt assessing the consistency and textures along with it, but I smile at the fact that he hasn’t spit it out in disgust just yet.

“See? Not bad, huh?”

He swallows and shrugs with one shoulder, casually trying to disguise any pleasure he may have gotten from something so mundane. “It was alright, nothing short of mediocre as far as foods are concerned but I can see why one such as yourself would enjoy it.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head, “Typical… Bloody typical, you are.”

Settling into the sofa, time passes a lot more quickly than I imagine. We’re halfway through the film before I notice how close we are. When we’d started, Sherlock had been curled up firmly on the middle cushion but now, his thigh is pressed against my own and the popcorn bowl has shifted into my lap. He’s leaned forward, completely fascinated by the fact that the main characters can supposedly hate one another in person but be falling head over heels in love via an anonymous relationship over the internet. It’s fun to watch, actually; his sudden realisation that not everything in life is completely black and white brings a smile to my face. “How can they not know?” he asks, shaking his head before reaching into the bowl to snag a handful of popcorn.

“But, they do know,” I answer, chuckling softly with a shake of my head. “Well, not really... but, he does at least.”

“And he isn’t going to tell her?”

“No, not yet. Why would he? He isn’t even sure where his own life is going right now. It’s in his best interest to just let things play out, see where things go, you know?”

Sherlock huffs and I can tell he’s more invested in the film than he cares to admit but my smile widens anyway.

He reaches into the bowl at the same time I do and, just like a scene in the movies, our fingers brush and I feel my heart skip a beat. We both fall still, but neither of us moves. Sherlock’s gaze is still trained on the telly while mine rakes over the back of his head. I can almost feel the tension radiating off the back of his neck but after a moment, his fingertips brush mine once again, curling hesitantly - almost as if he’s testing the waters, searching for something that he isn’t quite sure he wants or needs, but I oblige him all the same.

I part my fingers just a bit, shifting in order to slot them into the delicate spaces between his and something inside me seems to fall into place. I can’t pinpoint what it is exactly but I know it has a name, even if it’s one I’m too terrified to even allow myself to think into existence at this point. It’s comforting, spreading a thinly veiled warmth throughout my body as Sherlock’s fingers tighten, gently squeezing mine as he holds my hand tentatively.

I’m well aware of how fragile this moment is. At any point, he could grow skittish, draw away from me and dart back to the safety of his own half of the sofa but for right now, he’s content to let me in. Joe and Kathleen’s friendship blossoms on the screen as they grow to enjoy one another’s company, just as I’ve grown to enjoy Sherlock's and it dawns on me just how incredibly lucky I am to be sitting here with my ridiculously mad flatmate instead of stuck in quarantine alone in that drafty old bedsit.

Over the years, my life has taken many twists and turns but, as the movie ends with Joe and Brinkley the dog appearing over the hill, revealing Joe's true identity to the woman he's been emailing, something finally settles inside me. In that moment, I find that I can’t help feeling a bit like Kathleen as she finally realizes that the man she loves - the man she’s always loved - has been right in front of her the whole time. Her tears begin to fall and Joe steps forward, smiling softly as he dabs at her cheeks with a handkerchief; Sherlock’s fingers tighten in mine and my breath catches.

“Don’t cry, Shopgirl…” I mouth along with the lines to the film as Joe finally speaks and my heart tightens in my chest when Kathleen sniffles. Sherlock’s body has relaxed against the sofa at this point and I feel him shift even closer to me in the dark.

“I wanted it to be you,” she says, her voice filled with an emotion much like the one threatening to overthrow every sense of sensibility I have left at this point. “I wanted it to be you so badly.”

A cover version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” plays in the background as the protagonists kiss, bringing an end to the formidable enemies-to-lovers trope but something in my brain can’t quite separate the fictional world of Joe and Kathleen from the current situation I’ve found myself in tonight. Though neither of us speaks as the credits roll and the music plays on, I can feel the hint of tension beginning to build between us but I let it go. Will he want to go further? Will he even want to acknowledge what's happened between us tonight? I don't know, but, for now, I want to savour this moment… I want to wrap it up in a neat little bundle and tie it off with a bow, safe from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. For now, I want to bask in the silent resolution that for this moment, Sherlock Holmes is mine and I am his for however long he allows me to be.

The next evening, before I can settle in my chair, Sherlock’s on the sofa - a bowl of popcorn in hand and a hopeful expression on his face as he eyes the empty spot beside him. He’s picked out yet another movie from my film collection.  _ Another romance…  _ The trend continues the next night and the next night... and the next. Until I realise what it is he’s doing...

“You can hold my hand without the movie, you know…” I whisper in the dark, leaning forward just a bit so that my words tease the soft shell of his ear. “If you want that is.” It’s a risk but it’s a risk worth taking. Fortunately for me, I don’t have to wait long for an answer.

Sherlock turns toward me slowly, his eyes scanning my face for a brief moment before a million-megawatt grin lights up his features. I can feel my cheeks heat almost instantly and, much like a kid at Christmas, he takes my hand, kissing every knuckle with an affection that I’ve never seen him show before. It’s soft yet needy underneath, causing my brain to stutter to a stop. He treats the gesture like it’s the greatest gift he’s been given, the gentleness of his lips caressing my skin in the most intimate way, but then something seems to happen inside of him. 

His eyes blow wide as he stops, clearly shocked at his own actions, yet he doesn’t seem to know what to do now that he’s already gone this far. "Too much?" Sherlock asks, hesitant to meet my gaze.

My heart melts into an absolute puddle and I fight the urge to grab him up and kiss him senseless. “Not. At. All.”


End file.
